You spelled than wrong

Oral fenced skirt scarf caress

her one more dwell hour

The little lolita flips the paper pieces into

An oh not mouthing an e but

Denouncing said existence this way

She began at the nursing home today

right after high school let out

and her nail bits fell off

Jade still chews them with such brute that

her black pencil eyes swoop down

and chisel neat slots into her wrist

with pink pen

hard to twist around in a wheelchair when

internet clowns slide through the spaces

paralyze her at 13 years

she’s the new flat facade this side

of 2 east just hours

escaped on a ballpoint pen

her face was found swiftly after

planted on a keyboard stuck on Y

several pages in, almost the word allotment

beginning with blue flash puncture here:

www dot

We all know you now that your papers hit the floor

Cervical Drip

She’s been there thirty some years

playing with skin fusions.

Death barer,

you have no idea.

There’s a dust bowl in your belly

Swirling around your 43 visits to the nurse

One nurse. Small town.

I don’t blame you, baby, I don’t blame you

I’d be with you now if it weren’t for forceps.

Three day cap on tardiness

You’re coming out whether you’re fresh or filthy.

Babies rest for eight? Nine?

I was stained with struck marks for days-

medical dunce cap.

Bloody sludge pockets filled with scabbed scabs

Food service arrives

but you ain’t takin’ the plate.

Instead some eggs drop down

onto the pedestal with finger tips slurring through

that fall quite fast when decay begins

Decay of what just began

Fixed legs that become one

7 ounces a piece

2 gallons of pain per square inch

until the knife works itself in

and carves out the torn matter

3 lbs. 6 oz. Mummy cries now.

Swaddle

There’s an olive in the center.

Don’t stare at it- we will hear you.

Just bags of skin that walk around smiling, really;

feasting on fingernail tips and split-end frizzles,

feet tapping until noon

when the mailman comes, delivering bills

and two-cent checks.

I could sit here mumbling all day to

cigarette butt flem rolling over and over

across the table.

L. My name is L. My ass is plastered to this Lazy Boy

because I won’t answer to the mail man

anymore.

A woman put me here 3 years ago.

She thought my skin went nicely

with the dollar store shower curtain.

Now I rest upon a tower of bed sores

and decaying fecal matter.

I still look good with the curtain. It’s rusted over now.

I’m still here, but not long.

The police came at 8:16 PM Saturday evening.

They say the stench was so

that grown men cried like infants.

He was there, seemingly alert

but his nails were baby blue

and his hair frayed to death.

He was 43.

The paramedics wrapped him in an old shower curtain

and carried him and the chair through a wall cut-out.

He looked like a cradled child, still fused with his mother.

His neighbors said they had no idea.

The olive explodes

and his person splits in two.